


Paladin of Darkness

by Aisranhou



Series: Prince Without Time [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Childhood Trauma, Control Issues, Durmstrang Student Harry Potter, Grey Harry Potter, Harry Has An Eating Disorder, Harry Potter Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Harry Potter Has a Different Name, Inheritance, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Master of Death Harry Potter, Mental Breakdown, Protectiveness of Harry, Self-Esteem Issues, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-05-16 23:08:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19327975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aisranhou/pseuds/Aisranhou
Summary: Ok, I fixed my shit. Tell me if I fucked up again.Harry gets a Durmstrang Letter before he gets his Hogwarts letter.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> No, like really tell me if I fucked up again.

White paste upon his lips, both of them withered to crinkled versions of what they should be. The corners of his mouth ache with his room swallowing yawn, the skin made less flexible by dryness. Freaks throat feels dry and sore; every lungful of hot air robs more water from my body. There is a pain at the back of his head that threatens to grow into a powerful migraine. It was a burn that didn't go away but instead grew steadily stronger and harder to ignore as the day went on.

Freak peered out through the vent of its cupboard, watching in mild interest as Aunt collected the mail from the mat. She sorted through it absently as she wandered back to the dining room where Uncle and Cousin were devouring their breakfast.

Freaks stomach snarled and howled and from it came the not-so-subtle undertone of pain. It came in waves and it seemed as though his stomach was slowly digesting itself. Freak clutched at it, pulling it this way and that in an attempt to silence it but to no avail. It cried even louder, it was a slow pain, eating away at his stomach and leaving Freak feeling drained and empty. Water was a wishful dream and food was a concept not even worth the effort of hoping for. 

Freak could smell the aroma of the cooking, a meal he'd never be able to eat through the pain that cut each breath short. Freaks belly rumble loudly.

Loud enough for the Dursleys to hear. Almost immediately his cousin began winning about how Freak was disturbing him. Freak was immediately subjected to his Uncles glaze.

The way his eyes squinted when he glared at him reminded him of a pit viper's slit-like pupils. Freak gulped nervously. A burning animosity was developing in his Uncles brown orbs, and he could tell he was likely gonna get it. It promised pain.

The color drained from Freaks face, white as a sheet, he's rooted to the spot, frozen, clammy, cold sweat running down his forehead, unable to control his trembling body, wide-eyed, edging backward, hands clenched, white knuckles, heart pounding, too scared to comprehend. 

Freak hid, quaking and sweating with fear as his Uncles boots creaked the floorboards. Tears streamed silently down his face as the footstep grew closer and closer. 

Trapped. No way out. Freak frantically searched for something, anything, a crevice, a seal.

Freak whispering to the wind: Please. Please no.

But his silent prayer went unheard as the door swung open.

“Tut tut, I did warn you. Now, look what you've gone and made me do...”

At once her neck and head became rigid, frozen. Freak felt her head being turned to the door, the door became a wall. His hand hit and Freak fell with the force of it. 

“Now, pay attention, my boy, we have a game to play. The stakes are high, they always are...”

Though his hand was empty, it was like being hit with a hunk of meat nonetheless and afterward Freak would endure his words of hatred, all spilling from a man that was supposed to be family.  
\-----------------------------------------------  
A searing shot of pain ran up the young boy’s body, a scream escaping his pale lips as the devastating sounds bounced off the living room's walls. A man sat opposite the weeping boy, an iron fire poker by his side. His hands were firmly clasped under his chin, a gleeful grin stretched across his face. The man didn't seem at all bothered by the screams that came from his victim. If anything, he seemed amused by his pain. His stony brown eyes stared down at the twitching body before him as if he were inspecting a freshly plucked turkey, all ready to go into the oven. The flames that licked up the sides of the fireplace reflected off the beads of sweat that had settled on the boy's forehead.

The boys’ agony was his entertainment.

At first, there was guilt, an attempt to stop, but soon he gave way, realizing how much he enjoyed beating his fists into the boys' skin. With every hit, he felt a cold zing of delight, a buzz he could get no other way. 

After a time, his screams had subsided and his tormentor had grown bored with his silence. Sending a single kick to his stomach, the man stood and left, but not without giving one last lingering glance to the boy.

All Freak could do is writhe, the occasional whimper escaping that echoed off the walls. The pain is increasing in waves, small lulls giving false hope of an end.

In his very short life, eleven-year-old Freak has only known pain. For as long as he could remember, he was constantly yelled at, punished, left alone, starved and beaten by his aunt, uncle, and cousin.

Freak lays there for what seems like hours, barely keeping in suppressed screams, blood seeping beneath his skin, ribs fractured. There would be no doctor, no evidence. Though silent sobs slip past his lips. His vision swam, and black spots fit his vision. Nails digging into his palm piercing his skin and coating them in blood. He clenched his teeth, trying not to scream. It was too much. Blackness came with such completeness it obliterated the memory of the day that had just been.  
\-----------------------------------------------


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if it is short.

Every night it was the same. The inside-out-man would rap on the walls and shake the doors before shimmying up the drainpipe and climbing in the open sash window. He would creep from room to room looking for me, calling my name. The eventually I'd be found, trembling under a blanket. He'd raise a silver dispenser of inside-out powder over my head and shake.

Freak would wake up before he could kill him. But Freak could still feel the presence of the chilling knife around his throat, digging deeper into him. It's sharp edges running around his smooth skin ready to pierce. Freak could hear his heavy breathing and the sweat from his forehead was enough to fill an entire bottle and the pounding of his heart in the throat. It was only a nightmare.

Darkness was normally a comfort for Freak. Darkness means that danger was not here, that peace had arrived. After calming down, Freak registered the sharp pain going through his body. His arm was wrong, he could feel the burns and the stings, it was not right. Checking his body, Freak discovered so was his ribs he could feel them poking out. The rest of his body was hurt and sore as well, but normal cuts and bruises didn't concern him anymore.

No one would come, Freak knew this. People didn't help those without names, people didn't even feed things like him if they could help it. But he wished, he craved someone to take the pain away. The darkness used to be an ally, but right now it just helped him feel alone and scared and hurt. Freak stared into the dark, unable to see, and but this pain was not the same, it was immediate and unforgiving. So he focused and tried to push the pain away, from his world, from the dark.

This kind of thick silence would normally chill Freak, especially on an inky night devoid of even moonlight or stars, but tonight it works like a salve. Freak could feel it. The more absolute it is the stronger its medicinal effect. 

Freak began to feel as though energy is being constantly drained out of him. Freak raised his already blanched hand to his stomach before letting fall back to the injury, eyes wide. His fingers clamped over the wound, growing paler by the second. The blood flowed thickly over his fingers, warm. The violent red stained his shaking hands.

Struggling to stay awake, Freak feels this blackness come over him. Like a blanket, but not a blanket of warmth but a blanket of coldness making him shiver. But somehow it's making his eyes feel heavier and heavier. Finally, he gives up and closes his eyes sending him into a dreamless sleep.  
\-----------------------------------------------  
Unknown to Freak, a popping sound is heard and something appears beside him. The wildly dressed elf bounces around wildly yelling loudly. An House-elf who is wearing a short sleeved, hide jacket covers that him to just above his waist and is buttoned up completely at the top right side. The sleeves of his jacket are wide and reach down to below his hands, they're decorated with several thread linings at the sleeve ends.

The jacket has a narrow, rectangular neckline which reveals part of the luxurious shirt worn below it and is worn with a large cloth belt, which is held together by an ornate pin. The cloth belt is slightly decorative, but mostly there to hang things from.

The House-elf’s pants are simple and quite wide and reach down to his hard leather boots. The boots are made from a fairly rare leather, but are otherwise a design found commonly.

"Sirs! Master wants Blot to deliver a letter to yo-” The House-elf gasps staring blankly at the little body with wide, horrific eyes. 

Against the dirty mattress, the blood trail was stark. Small droplets had tumbled and spread into the gray/white making arcs of scarlet. Blot looked down at the footprints, staggering back at the sight of the red liquid on the floor.

Quickly Blot swooped like a hen-hawk and disappeared with the little body, hoping the little Sirs was still alive.  
\-----------------------------------------------


	3. Chapter 3

Everything hurt. From the tips of his toes to the crown of his head. Even his hairs seemed to protest with each movement and he groaned softly. Freak had always imagined that death would be peaceful. Like the nice old lady in the park had once told him. Maybe it would be nice or maybe even peaceful, like sleeping almost?

Upon waking, Freak burrowed himself into the warm, soft sheets. 

Wait… What? He wasn't allowed his own sheet… He must be still dreaming, Uncle made it clear that Freak was not allowed such luxuries, the sheets smelled too clean and felt different than he was used too.

So he must still be dreaming right? But if Freak were still a dream, why was he still feeling the burning ache. Freak was exhausted and unable to focus. Bursts of tearing pain pulsed through his head. Freaks head felt heavy and he could feel dizziness starting to kick in. A sharp pain plagued both of Freaks' knees, forcing him to constantly shift his body weight from one side to the other in the desperate hope of finding some temporary relief. But nothing seemed to work. It took them a moment to gather his thoughts, or at least gather enough of them to think a little clearer.

An overwhelming feeling of dread took over and for a moment Freak thought the pain would only get worse and worse.

Harry remembered Uncle Vernon had made Freak play with him until he got bored and left him. He also recalled the unbearable heat in the cupboard and then...blank.

Freak couldn't remember anything beyond that.

But...the soft sheets? 

Harry licked his lips nervously, his tongue feels as if it’s coated in fur and his lips are chapped and dry. The corners of his mouth ache with his room swallowing yawn, the skin made less flexible by dryness. Freak longed water. Freak licked his lips again, trying to wet his mouth.

The pressure in his abdomen let him know that he needed to use the restroom, but he doesn't move. He doesn't dare move, afraid this was a dream and when he wakes up hed still be laying on the dirty cold mattress. Instead Freak listened for his Uncle Vernons footsteps coming to down the stairs that would indicate Uncle ere coming to begin the days “Pampering”.

It wasn't until Freak heard the murmur of voices, did freak finally open his eyes. Or at least try to. Freaks eyelids felt as if they had been sewed shut. He could only conjecture the image of skin tearing as he peeled then open slowly and blinked them for what felt like the first time in forever. 

But something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

It was dark, but not just any dark. Darkness clustered about him thickly. Blackness came with such completeness it obliterated the memory of the light that had just been. Freak couldn’t even see the outline of the hand in front of him.

This was something he had never experienced, not even in the dead of night when he was locked in his cupboard.

“What -” He spoke, but almost immediately stopped. Harry couldn’t hear anything. He felt the words rumbling in his chest and throat but nothing else.

A scream forced its way out of his throat. And through his panic, and struggle into a sitting position, he kicked away blankets and pillows only no realizing how much it burned against his skin.

Getting louder and louder until there was suddenly a large hand on his shoulder. The shock of being touched unexpectedly scared him so much that he relieved himself in the bed. Now frightened and embarrassed, he scrambled towards the edge of the mattress, hoping to find the side table so he could get his wand. But he moved too fast and didn’t realize how close to the edge he was, Freak had been too surprised to scream. The sensation of falling was the worst part; his heart flew into his throat and his stomach turned to water. He flung his hands out, trying to catch something, anything that might slow his descent. 

His hands closed on what seemed like the soft sheet. It didn't hold. Freak thumped to the ground, hard and his hip and shoulder slammed to the earth. Freak feels his bones move in a way they shouldn't, jangle.

Rolling over, he sucked the air back ito his lungs. Freak was just beginning to sit up when the large hand returned, pushing him back to the ground. With the sudden force, his forehead banged against the floor and ended up pushing the air out of his lungs. Freak tried to scramble away from under the weight that felt like it was crushing him. 

He continued silently screaming, tears running down his face. The floor wasn’t wood, so he now knew this wasn’t a dream.

Struggling with newfound energy, he clawed violently against the weight, happy when if it suddenly off him.

Freak felt for the edge of the bed, crawling under it as fast as he could, not knowing anywhere else to hide.

Minutes went by, a sob rose up in his throat. The silence gnawed at his insides. The silence was like a gaping void, needing to be filled with sounds, words, anything. 

It was the silence that Freak unconsciously relaxed when he felt the newfound energy slipping away. Half of his body felt numb while the other half screamed in agony. The sharp, burning sensation was all Freak could focus on. The pain subsided at times, only to flare up again and with seemingly increased intensity. 

Freak jerked away violently, started as he felt something nudge his side And it was only natural that Freak suddenly felt dizzy and his body began to feel weaker by the second. 

Then darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> Like seriously, FUCKING TELL ME. Nah, JK.


End file.
